[Item Analysis: High-priority object detected]
[Material: Unknown organic hide. Temperature: 3.2 degrees above ambient]
[Inscription: Primary script—Unknown arcane language. Secondary script—Common Tongue]
Greem's heart began to race.
*THUMP*
This wasn't a fighter's manual. This was something else. Something whispered about in stories. Magic. The reason for the strange energy signature from the elder was now clear.
The headman hadn't been a warrior.
The headman had been an acolyte. A student of arts far older and more dangerous than any sword.
'But...magicians are usually holding positions in noble households. Was it a legend to reassure the people? Witch hunting ended a long time ago', Greem wondered
His eyes flicked to the scroll.
[Scroll Analysis: Contains a structured, high-density energy pattern. Classification: Spell formulation, likely to cast spells. Caution: Unidentified effect.]
He acted without hesitation. He was the only one in the squad who could read. This knowledge was a weapon they couldn't comprehend. Quickly, he tucked the warm book and the scroll inside his tunic, securing them against his skin. The loss of the elder's life, the family's hatred, it all suddenly felt secondary to this discovery.
He stood up, sliding the now nearly-empty chest toward Jask with his foot. "Just some trinkets and a bit of silver," he announced, his voice carefully bored. "Add it to the haul."
Jask glanced inside, grunted, and tossed the pouch to one of the men to be counted. He didn't question it. Why would he? To him, the book was just paper.
The door of the house exploded inwards, torn from its remaining hinge.
Ragnar filled the doorway, a mountain of muscle and menace. His bare chest and face were spattered with blood, and his great axe was slung over his shoulder, its edge freshly stained.
[Name: Ragnar. Class: Knight. Attributes: Strength - 3.1 | Agility - 2.1 | Vitality - 2.8. Skills: Barbaric Axe Mastery (90), Intimidation (80), Banditry (36), ...
Status: Minor wounds, out of breath]
Ragnar's wild eyes scanned the room, dismissively skipping over the weeping family and the corpse. They landed on a large cask of ale one of his men had rolled out from a pantry.
"Ha! The good mountain brew!" he boomed, his voice like grinding rocks.
He strode over, drove the point of his own dagger into the cask, and caught the spurting liquid in a large clay mug. He drank half of it in one long, noisy gulp, sighing with deep satisfaction.
"This alone makes this trip worth the trouble. Found anything worthwhile, pup?" he asked, his gaze falling on Greem.
"Enough supplies and silver to justify the effort", Greem replied, his tone neutral. He could feel the weight of the book against his chest, a secret burning him from the inside.
It was Jask who voiced the fear that hung in the air. He stepped closer to Ragnar, his voice low.
"Ragnar... the Chieftain. Alicia's orders were clear. No raiding villages. We stay in the mountains. We grow strong unseen"
Ragnar finished his mug and crushed it in his hand, the pottery shattering. He fixed Jask with a look of pure contempt.
"Bah! Alicia dreams of a crown while sitting on a rock!" he snarled. "She forgets the truth! We are not politicians. We are wolves! We do not grow strong by hiding. We grow strong by taking!"
He gestured violently around the ruined home. "By blood and steel! By making them fear our name! A kingdom is not built on shadows and goblin bones, boy. It is built on the gold and grain of places like this, taken from the weak!"
He leaned in, his breath a mix of blood and ale, his presence overwhelming.
"Let Alicia rage. She needs my axe. She needs the men who follow me. Your squad leader is smarter than you, accepting my offer to raid the village. At first, I was wondering why a sixteen-years-old was made a squad leader, but now I understand. Good job, Greem." He let out a short, brutal laugh.
He turned and clapped Greem on the shoulder, a blow that felt like being struck by a hammer. Greem's biochip registered the impact.
[Vitality: -0.1. Temporary.]
"Now, stop worrying about the she-wolf's moods. Get this loot loaded. I'm claiming this cask. The rest of you, finish up! We move out in five minutes! We don't want a patrol tailing us on our way back!"
As Ragnar turned his attention back to the ale, Greem stood still for a moment. The family's hateful stares were like physical pressure on his back. But they were nothing compared to the new weight he carried.